“Or your chest hair?” I interrupt whatever untoward suggestion he was about to make. “That might be a little difficult, but maybe if we braid it first. Or we could shave our initials into it. What do you think, James?”
My eldest brother does not move, but he does rumble out something between an agreement and a growl.
Chest Hair steps closer. I hate to think this idiot is a representative of the town. But then, I realize nobody has stood up to watch his back. So he might be a party of one.
“You fancy rich boys think you can come in here and swindle the mayor out of the deed to this town? Not on my watch, son. Not on my watch.”
“Is that what you think happened?” I ask, moving a little closer. Not because James needs backup, but I’d rather this guy take a swing at me than the one of us most likely to send Chest Hair to the hospital. “Because we’ve got a contract that says otherwise. All nice and legal. Sounds like you’ve got your stories mixed up. I can see how that would happen though. It’s hard to be both smart and pretty.”
That one takes him a minute, then he scowls and turns his full attention toward me, looking me up and down with a sneer. “Well, you’re all pretty, so you must not be too smart.”
“Guess not, since you and I understand each other so well. Now, do you mind if we enjoy ourselves a friendly game of cornhole?”
“Yeah, I do mind.”
He spits on the ground, and I’m thankful he didn’t hit my boots. Before we left on this little jaunt into dumb idea land, I took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes at James’s house. Just in case fate made my path cross Lindy’s again. If this guy messes up my boots, this will go a whole lot less peacefully. Harper and the guys always give me a hard time about it, but I am a man who likes my clothes and shoes.
“Are you going to try and stop us?” James speaks, each syllable dropped with a deadly precision. Chest Hair whips his attention back to my dumb older brother.
“Yeah, I am.”
I hear a noise behind me, and I’m pretty sure it’s Chase, sighing heavily. Collin is glancing around discreetly, probably assessing the kind of lawsuit we might be looking at if things get ugly. He’s always the kind to take stock of the practical side of situations.
Me? I’m just the mouth.
“After we’re done here, can I shave a little bit of it? I need a new area rug in my bathroom, and this shade would go perfectly with my floors. I’m happy to pay you by the ounce.” I sniff dramatically, then wrinkle my nose. “Though I might ask you to shower first. A little shampoo and conditioner would go a long way.”
Chest Hair launches himself in my direction but before his body makes contact, out of nowhere, a powerful jet of water knocks him off his feet. Down he goes, and before I can react, the stream—which I have enough time to see is coming from the fire hose—aims our way.
Collin, Chase, and James go down like bowling pins. Last, but not least, a gush of water hits me square in the chest, taking my legs out from under me. I go down hard, getting the wind knocked out of me as I go.
We’re a sopping wet tangle of legs and arms. Somehow, my face gets pressed right into the center of Chest Hair’s most notable feature. He definitely needs a shampoo, and I need a bottle of mouthwash. I’ll be coughing up hairballs for days. I get a solid yank in as I twist away from him, and he screeches.
The spray doesn’t let up but isn’t as bad when it’s not hitting me directly. I don’t know how they even got a water source out here for the truck. Surely, there’s not a hydrant in the middle of the field? Either way, it doesn’t matter. The damage is done. I guess I can at least be thankful we avoided a fight?
There’s laughter, and a few catcalls as the spray comes to a stop. “The Devil Came Down to Georgia” starts playing over the speakers, which seems remarkably apropos somehow. The dirt has already become mud. Scrambling through the wet slop, my hands close around someone’s shoe. It’s impossible to even tell what color it is. When I tip it over, mud glops out.